Samson's New Delilah
by wandertogondor
Summary: The first time Melanie Faraday saw Sebastian Monroe he accused her of leaking information to the rebel forces. The second time she sees him, he's on the run from his own men and in need of a safe haven. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**I just want to thank TomHiddlestonLover10 from the bottom of my heart for being so amazing by giving me pointers and reading over his several times just to make sure I got it all right :) **

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**Summary: The first time Melanie Faraday saw Sebastian Monroe he accused her of leaking information to the rebel forces. The second time she sees him, he's on the run from his own men and in need of a safe haven.**

Melanie raised her head to soak in the cold breeze that stirred through the tall oak trees surrounding her cabin and the large field which lay before her. There was a particular scent in the air that instantly told her a storm was coming. She looked up at the swiftly setting sun which was just a pale illumination behind the dark pollution of the rain clouds, and focused her concentration on the distant tree lines.

"It's gonna be a heavy storm," she thought, pushing her weight off the knob-side jamb and walking down to the clothesline.

The stalks of rye rustled melodiously at the impact of another gust of heavy wind. A deafening crack of thunder made the skies above finally curl into a blanket of darkness before static-like lightning bolts brightening the world. Mel's pace quickened as she threw the crisp, clean clothes into a makeshift basket. Just when she grabbed the last bed sheet, her eyes scanned the field again. This time her focus landed on a dark figure standing in the very center.

Anyone should know that standing in an open field during a huge storm was just asking for a freshly dug grave. Mel had buried enough people – too many to be given the considerable amount of sympathy – but she most certainly didn't want a dead body rotting in a fifty feet proximity from where she lived. So, in a split second, she had dropped her basket and was sprinting into the knee-high rye, waving her arms above her head and shouting to get his attention.

When Mel stood face to face with the man, his face scared and aloof, she was dumbstruck. She was about to curse out loud but whatever she opened her mouth to say was drowned out by a series of loud cracks of thunder. That was when the rain started to beat down in heavy torrents. She grabbed his wrist and almost had to drag him through the blinding rain back to the cabin.

As soon as they were both safe inside, Melanie pushed the door shut against the winds and bolted the lock. She was about to grab a dry towel for herself but looked forlornly at the freshly cleaned clothes and linens sitting, soaking wet, in the basket she had dropped outside.

That was when she finally noticed him.

Sebastian Monroe stood beside the door, shivering violently and holding a blood-covered hand to his side.

"Oh, my god," She said in realization, wiping the rain water from her upper lip, and immediately leading him to the small army cot which didn't have any bed sheets.

Monroe squinted at her when he laid his head down on the pillow. "I know you. You…you're –"

"Shut up." She snapped, rummaging through drawers trying to find her flint and tinder to start the fire. With all the will power she had, squatting over the hearth, she managed to force her fingers to stop quivering long enough to get a few sparks to come off of the flint and into the dried pieces of rye over the wood. "Take your clothes off." Melanie said over her shoulder to Monroe, who watched her every move. He hesitantly stared up at her. "This is not the time to be bashful, Monroe."

A charming smile appeared on his lips, despite the stabbing pain in his side. "I don't want to lead you on or anything."

Mel rolled her eyes. "How decent of you."

She took to unbuttoning his shirt and pulling up the blood-soaked flannel that was underneath. Coagulated blood had clotted the bullet wound and was caked over his toned abs. Mel shut her eyes to think.

"You're Faraday, right?" Monroe quietly asked. His voice was shaken from shock but his gaze was glued to her face.

Melanie didn't answer but stood and unlocked the door. From where Sebastian lay, he saw her bolt out into the curtain of rain and come back a few moments later with a basket of clothes in her hands. She was soaking wet again and her auburn hair clung to her face in sopping strands.

Standing at the table, she dug out a square washcloth from the basket and started dabbing at the dried blood on his stomach. "Stay still or I'll make sure I puncture your liver with a fork."

"You're still all personality, aren't you, Melanie?" A discomfort-laced grin spread across his face.

"I'll take your word for it." She sarcastically drawled, rubbing in the droplets of rain that dribbled off the tips of her hair and landed on his torso. "So, what brings you to this neck of the wood?" Her eyes drifted up to meet his. "Surely your men shouldn't be too far away searching for you."

"I don't have any more men." Monroe's face curled in pain just as the cloth swept over the raw flesh on his side.

Mel's hand recoiled spontaneously. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine." He sighed out. "I always knew my men weren't loyal to me."

"That's not what I apologized for," She icily snapped, feeling the skin around the swollen wound, searching for any sign of a bullet. "I don't know what happened to the bullet but it's not inside." Without a word, she stooped underneath the cot and reached into a canvas bag.

Bass had his head craned curiously to see what she had in her hand, and when he saw her bring up a metal flask he threw his back into the pillow with a loud sigh of relief. "There better be whiskey in that, Faraday."

Thrusting the flask into his hand, Melanie walked to the mantle above the blazing fire and pulled out a small sewing kit which was tucked behind a vase. Just as Monroe was about to take a swig, Mel snatched the flask from his fingers and poured a generous amount into his open wound. A sharp hiss escaped between the blonde man's clenched teeth and his hands groped for the metal bedframe. His knuckles were white since he was clinging to the cot with all his strength, trying to wait for the burning sensation to ease into an agitating numbness at his side.

"You're like the female version of Joe Swango," He jokingly taunted, his face still pulled into a wince.

"Grow any more balls, Monroe, and you'd almost be as good a man as Attila the Hun."

He flashed an immaculate smile despite the stinging pain that still lingered. "Thanks for the compliment."

"I must have said it wrong." Melanie unraveled a piece of thread that was roughly doubled the length of one arm. She carefully folded the string in half before threading it through a larger needle with a wider eye.

Monroe watched her work with steady eyes. Every move she made was precise and with some meaning. She never sat idly. He remembered from the time when he first noticed her sitting in the courtyard in plain sight of his office window. She was sitting on a bench, poised and still, appearing more like a picturesque masterpiece rather than a live being, with her beautiful forest green eyes shifting to and fro. She was studying her surroundings, memorizing and judging each and every person who walked past her. Her hands were folded calmly in her lap, the pointer finger of her left hand, he noted at the moment which seemed so long ago, steadily tapping her knee cap. Little did he know, that one small, still woman was about to cause chaos all through his Republic.

"Why'd you do it?" He asked before he knew he had come back from his daydream.

Her fingers stopped moving at his torso. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

"Try me." Monroe challenged slightly, loosening his grip on the bed frame.

Mel scoffed dismissively, meeting his stare. "Would you believe me if I said I did it for love?"

"No,"

An ironic smile past her lips. "Yeah, I wouldn't either. But that's the reason." She bit the inside of her lower lip and focused her attention back to running the needle point through his skin.

"Well, what happened to him?" Bass inquired, anger welling up inside of him.

Melanie started slowly, filtering out as much as she could from the real story. "He...wanted to take my hand but he took my whole life instead. He got what he wanted from my heart and then left. He left me standing with the bag while he hightailed it back with his tail between his legs."

"That's where our meat sticks hang, sweetheart. Men do what we can to protect our own."

"That's not a good enough justification for leaving me to die!" She growled through clenched teeth, harshly securing the string so it snuggly held the wound for healing.

He nodded. "People do crazy things when they're in love."

"You know your Disney movies, Monroe." Mel chuckled quietly, tying off the stitches and soaking up the excess blood on his torso with another damp cloth.

"How about you give a drink of that?" He motioned with his hand toward the flask that she had set on the floor.

Melanie straightened herself into a balanced stance, arms akimbo, head cocked, ready for battle. "How about you shut up and give me your shirts?"

The large grin on his mouth couldn't help but reach his sparkling eyes as he slowly pulled his shirts over his head. Mel tried pulling her focus off his bare chest and the way the muscles in his arms fit in the sleeves of the flannel shirt just so. Pulling herself together, she gathered the needle which had a thin coat of blood over it and dropped it into a small saucer, pouring a few drops of alcohol over it from the flask. When she turned, Monroe had his shirts in his hands and held them out to her.

"Get some rest, Monroe." Mel took the shirts and put the half-filled flask in his hand instead. "You're safe here."

With one swift movement, she threw his button down shirt with the Monroe Republic insignia into the tongues of the fire.

"What the hell was that for?" Monroe cried, shooting up but recoiling in pain. "That's the only shirt I have."

"Which would you rather have: your shirt or your life? Because I know for a fact that if they find you wearing that shirt you're a dead man." Mel walked to the table and laid the gray-brown flannel on the table before she started distributing the damp laundry in the basket around the cabin to dry before it started to smell musty. "Besides, I have some of Liam's clothes that may fit you."

"Is that his name?" Sebastian scoffed. "He sounds like a real mama's boy."

"At least he isn't a psychopathic, paranoid asshole."

He mocked a frown and put a hand over his heart. "That hurt."

"Good," She simply remarked, turning her ears to discern the clinking of raindrops against the glass windows.

As the night wore on, the rain just got more violent. The cabin creaked and the trees around it moaned through the roar of the storm. Melanie sat at the table, leaning over Monroe's newly washed flannel shirt which she spent hours scrubbing at a washboard. Monroe had fallen fast asleep as soon as he had finished the last of her whiskey which she was saving for special occasions, such as the power coming back on. Her fingers worked on mending the bullet hole with a thinner needle and her neck ached from leaning in closely to see each stitch.

"Hey," Monroe whispered from the cot, his head resting on the pillow so he could watch her. "I need to take a leak."

"You know," She said with a slightly smug undertone, "the whole point of being a grown up is to be able to take care of yourself."

"Well, considering the fact that I just got shot in the stomach I think I'm exempted from that rule for now."

Mel put two fingers against her temple, staring down at her half-finished work. "There's an outhouse behind the cabin. If you can't reach that, just go in the bushes outside the front door."

"Wanna help me up, princess?"

The chair she sat on loudly groaned against the force she used to push back, clearly exasperated. Securing one arm around his waist, and another on his shoulder, Mel inched his body into a sitting position, careful not to stretch the fresh stitches.

"Take it easy, Monroe," She lulled beside his ear, supporting him until he was standing on his own two feet. He lifted his arms from around her shoulder and limped for the door. Taking one look at the downpour of rain, he took a step out into the foyer and aimed for the azaleas. Mel sat back down at the table such that her back was facing the open door. A cool wind rushed into the small room, making the laundry whip and flap, causing small droplets of water to spray from the corners of the clothes.

"Why'd you come after me anyway?" Bass wondered out loud as he shuffled back toward the bed, gently pushing the door shut with a flick of his wrist. He turned his head to see Melanie quietly take up his flannel shirt again, running the needle back and forth and tugging the thread back before repeating the process.

Back and forth...tug...back and forth...

"Did you hear me?"

"I heard you." She replied immediately, keeping her eyes concentrated on her fingers.

Monroe carefully settled back down on the bed, cocking his head and focusing on her profile which flowed from the light of the fireplace. "Why didn't you answer?"

Her fingers stopped repeating the methodical flow of the needle, raising her head with a chuckle. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Just answer." He said seriously.

Melanie matched his facial expressions, shedding her playful smirk and replacing it with pursed lips. "If I knew it was you I wouldn't have bothered."

A thick cloak of tension settled over the two. The only sound that reached both of their ears was the homely cackling of the fire and the raindrops that pitter-pattered against the roof and tinkered on the window pane.


	2. Chapter 2

**A belated happy birthday to my good friend TheExperimenter10 (previously TomHiddlestonLover10) whose birthday was two days ago! This chapter's for you, my friend :)**

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Though the Colorado countryside was still damp with the heavy rain that pounded down just four days before, Melanie was already determined to make sure to get Sebastian Monroe out from inside the cabin and into the rays of the sun. He was pleasant company as long as she could keep him occupied and interested in what she was doing, but a good night's sleep, having been lulled by the steady rain, had proved to be a more powerful healing power than her herbs sprinkled by morning dew.

"Since you're getting better," Mel started, crouching on her ankles beside the wooden table to fix the wobbling leg while Monroe watched her with his elbow propped up on the pillow. "Since you're getting better, maybe you should start pulling your weight around the place."

"I still haven't gotten used to my sea legs yet," He justified coolly, slapping on his most charming grin.

She looked over her shoulder, clearly unamused. "If you can't walk...try running."

"Good one," The curly haired man taunted, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed and slowly easing his feet onto the cold floor.

She stood up straight, bending backwards to get rid of the tightened sensation all throughout her back. When Mel raised her upper body back up, she caught sight of Monroe with his eyes glued to her.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to stare?" She snapped and turned to poke at the fading embers at the bottom of the fire pit.

"My mother always told me to enjoy the beautiful things that I might come across in my lifetime."

"Very charming," Mel couldn't help but part a smile. "But I think that's enough for one day. Please, don't overwhelm me all at once, Monroe."

"Bass," He said with a more gentle tone. "You don't have to call me Monroe. My name's Bass."

"Don't go all soft on me, Monroe." She chuckled, climbing up the makeshift ladder that was propped up to access the small loft above her bed where there were rickety old crutches gathering dust in one corner. "Try these," Mel handed one crutch at a time down to him.

"What else do you got up there, sweetheart?"

"Stuff." was her indifferent reply as she climbed back down. "Things."

"Very specific." Monroe smirked, using the crutches as leverage to pull his body up. He took a few uneasy steps with the crutches tucked under his armpit to get the feel of it, aware of Mel's eyes following him as he went the length of the cabin and back.

"Do they feel okay?"

He nodded, crutching back to the bed and sitting back down at the edge while leaning the long wooden supports beside him. "I'm not a bad man, Melanie."

"You did bad things to good people," She replied evenly. "People would say that makes you an evil man, Monroe. But they want to see evil men as evil, screaming and paranoid with thousands upon thousands of soldiers saluting. You're not a bad man. You're just hated by those ignorant people who stereotype evil. The people who know deep down that evil is possible within us all but refuse to believe that the same poison could be lurking inside of them..inside of us all. You tried to lead a nation. But charisma and good looks will only get you so far."

The robust woman turned away from him for a moment to wring out a dish cloth out the window so the water fell in the grass underneath.

"You think I'm good looking?"

Mel glanced behind her shoulder, her face getting slightly red. "Well,I don't think you're ugly." She hid her reddening cheeks from him and stared out over the fields, still twisting the cloth to get all the water out.

In the far distance, right at the edge of the opposite tree line, Mel caught sight of three figures on horseback. There as a brief glint in the sunlight which could only be guns and swords. Her body went on autopilot...she just stood in one place, unable to control her own lack of action.

"Bass," Her voice came out in little less than a whisper. "Bass!" She spun on her heel, eyes frantic as she took his hand and yanked him to his feet. "They're coming for you. Get up into the loft and hide beneath the mats in the corner."

"Wha-? Mats?" The blonde man blanched, trying to see out the window but unable to in the speed that she was pushing him up the ladder.

"Just go!"

Melanie took one last look out the window to find that the soldiers were already halfway through the field and making a straight line for her cabin. She bolted the door before shoving the crutches beneath the bed and neatly placing the ladder, used to reach the loft, flat against the wall.

Just as she stuffed two blood stained wraps from Monroe's redressing into the fireplace, three strong raps came from behind the door. Melanie took one last glanced up at the loft to make sure there was no way Monroe could be seen before casually opening the door. Three soldiers, armed with modern looking rifles, stood on the front step.

"Well, well, well," she snorted with a sardonic smirk, "what do I owe the pleasure of Sebastian Monroe's goonies at my door this early in the morning?" She faked a pout and continued as if she was talking to a lost child. "Did you get lost when you let go of mommy's hand?"

The highest ranking soldier, a sergeant who stood between two of his accompanying men, rolled his eyes. "Very funny." He let himself in, silently motioning for one of his soldiers to guard the door.

"Come on in," Mel mumbled as they pushed past her. She didn't even dare to look up at the loft in case their eyes would follow hers. "What're you boys doing so far from the nest, huh?"

"Looking for mommy," The sargent dryly informed, poking around the kitchen area. The other soldier prodded under the bed with a bayonet fixed on his gun.

"Looking or hunting?" She motioned toward the bayonet.

"Hunting," The noncommissioned officer sneered as he walked away from the pots and pans and toward the bureau. He flung open the drawers, emptying the contents onto the floor.

"He's sure as hell not in there," Mel snapped, hurrying over to grab the drawer from his hands and put it back where it belonged before gathering her fallen under garments.

The sergeant caught her wrist, his eyes boring holes into hers. "You trying to save Monroe's ass?"

Melanie didn't break his beady glare as she pulled out of his grip. "I'm trying to save my underwear. Monroe's just getting his due."

"Better come look at this, sarge," The soldier with the bayonet called from the army cot. The mattress had dry blood stains splotched against the yellowing fabric.

"What's this?" Jenkins, the head of the search group, asked, looking at Melanie with distrust.

"Oh," She didn't break a sweat. "that's from my pinata."

"Your what?" His forehead wrinkled in confusion and a thin line appeared between his bushy eyebrows.

"It's from my period, dumbass,"

The two men grimaced in disgust, taking a step back from the cot as if the blood omitted deadly toxin

"Well," Jenkins swept his eyes around the room once again. "looks like you're not harboring much of anything. Sorry to bother you."

As the two men stepped out of the cabin and toward their horses which were grazing in the field, Mel spoke up. "Who's the head honcho now that Monroe took the boot?"

"Some guy named Neville." Jenkins replied. "Used to be one of Monroe's favorites."

She nodded, then shrugged. "Karma's a bitch."

"You can say that again," He mumbled.

Melanie stood at the door, silently watching as the three riders made slow progress back toward the tree line. Once they disappeared, she let out the breath she had been holding for about a minute.

"You can come down now," She called

up to the loft when Monroe popped his head out from behind a wall of secured wooden boards.

"You gonna give me a ladder or do you want me to break my legs too?"

"Wish I could break your vocal box," Mel muttered under her breath as she put the ladder back so he could climb down. "How's your side?"

"It's fine." He stumbled back to the bed and flung himself down with an exhausted huff. "I don't know why you gave me crutches anyway."

"You said you couldn't walk," She innocently reminded.

"I can walk just fine,"

Melanie let out a long breath, covering her eyes with her palm to block out the sunlight that echoed through the window.

Sebastian immediately raised his head from the pillow, concern etched across his face. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing," Her free arm waved him off as she slowly uncovered her eyes. "I'm just tired."

In a moment, he sprang to his feet and was leading her toward the Army cot, gently reassuring her that he'd chop wood for the fire and make sure all the clothes on the line was inside by the time she woke up.

"You sure you can handle it?" Mel sleepily asked, as she huddled in the blanket; secretly loving the smell of him on the pillow.

"I led an entire republic, I think I can handle it." Bass replied, frowning to himself.

He wasn't the best with power but he was good with responsibility.

Once he was ensured that she wouldn't move or oppose to put off having a nap, Monroe walked toward the window, which was directly above the bed, and began to draw back the curtains. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of three soldiers on horseback standing at the far end of the treeline. He ducked quickly, drawing back the curtains and bolting the door before he climbed back up to the loft, bring the ladder along with him in case the soldiers came back and demanded to be allowed up.

The curly haired man sat with his back leaning straight against the wall, eyes closed, and hand poised on the rifle he had found hidden underneath the mats.

He'd be ready when they came again.


	3. Chapter 3

When Mel awoke she twisted and stretched herself in various positions on the bed, trying to get rid of the heavy sensation in her body. The cabin was cold and eerily quiet as she sat up. The curtains had been pulled together, further darkening the already dim room.

"Bass," She dryly called out into the blackness, listening for any movement for his positioning.

There was no answer.

Mel placed both of her feet on the floor, trying to talk herself into getting up from the warm bed. She did eventually, immediately brushing back the curtains to look up into the bright moon that hung in the clouded sky. The glass was cool to the touch, and Mel's insides relaxed in the realization that on the other side of the wall was a vast world which was cloaked by the same breeze. A shiver crept up her spine, spiraling around her inmost being before pounding against her chest.

"Melanie?" Bass' low voice called from above her.

Mel craned her neck up at the rafters, trying to catch a glimpse of where he was positioned, until she saw his arm reach out from the edge of the loft. He leaned his head far enough for his blue eyes to appear illuminated by the moonlight.

"What are you doing up there?" She hissed, not knowing why they were whispering.

"They're out there,"

Mel's eyes followed his finger point toward the window. "Who?"

"Neville's men."

Fear-stricken, Melanie stared at the window pane, expecting to see Jenkins' gruff face appear through the darkness and into the light of the moon. "How long have they been out there?"

"Long enough," He calmly rest his head against the wall once again, staring straight ahead with the rifle still poised across his lap.

"You didn't think to wake me up?"

"What would you have done, Mel? Run out there and whack them with wet laundry?! They're soldiers! They won't hesitate to kill you."

"Well, I guess I should thank you for being liable for that."

Bass turned his gaze on her, anger rumbling beneath his cool exterior. "Liable for what? For training good soldiers? You hold me responsible?"

She didn't answer at once, instead she peeked out the window to catch sight of the three men."What are you going to do?"

"There's not much I can do," He replied, the earnest concern she showed in her icy gaze soothing his anger. "I'll probably just wait it out. Did you give them any reason to be suspicious?"

"No," Mel whispered, shaking her head. "at least, I don't think I did."

"Come up here," He patted the space beside him compellingly from above.

She smiled, thinking he was joking but his face showed no sign of ill-will. "Where's the ladder?"

"It's disposed at the moment," He braced one arm against a wooden beam and held his free hand down for her to take. "Just climb up on the bed. I'll help you up."

Reluctantly, Melanie did as he said and was swiftly pulled up into the loft. She sat beside him in the darkness; the zebra striped lines of moonlight seeped through the venetian blinds which hung over the square window on the side wall. Bass sat still beside her, his chest rising and falling as he breathed in the fresh air. His forearm occasionally brushed against hers whenever he readjusted his position, trying to avoid the pain that seared at his side.

"Is it still bothering you?" Mel wondered out loud, leaning toward him and putting a hand over the wound.

"A bit," He admitted truthfully, wincing when she put too much pressure. "but wounds heal."

Mel removed her hand and leaned her back against the wall again, blinking a few times to get rid of the sudden wave of sleep that washed over her.

Bass ran his tongue over his bottom lip; he hadn't realized how dried his mouth had gotten. "You don't have to protect me. It should be the opposite..what?" He quickly said after a smirk spread across her face.

She shook her head dismissively, shrugging. "The last person who said that to me buried me alive in Illinois."

"Really?"

"No. But he left me at your mercy." was her reply.

"I never would have hurt you, Melanie."

"Really?" She scoffed, her voice cracked and she turned away from him. "Just like you didn't hurt that Latino barbie?"

"That," Bass' voice became low with a slightly cruel undertone. " was a necessary wall that I needed to break through."

"Why?" Mel snapped, getting to her feet and looking down at him, eyes glaring down icily. "Because you were on a crusade to find Miles Matheson?"

Before Sebastian Monroe could explain himself, a sharp rap came from the front door. Mel froze, trying to sink in the darkness beside the man who slumped like a worn out prey at the heel of the predator.

"Go," He whispered, running his hand over the rifle which still sat in his lap. "They know you're in here."

A deafening sound vibrated through the cabin as splinters wood were sprayed around the broken door as it was kicked in my a large boot. From what she could see from where she stood, Mel caught sight of Jenkins puffing like an adder at the foyer, his beady eyes shifting to and fro.

"I know Monroe's in here. Come out, come out, wherever you are."

"What the fuck are you doing?" Mel took action and swung down from the loft; her eyes ablaze.

He pulled out his sidearm, cocked the hammer and pointed it at her face. "Where's Monroe?"

"Ask me nicely,"

"Where's Monroe!?" Jenkins shoved the muzzle of his gun under her chin, "Where the hell is he, bitch?"

"I don't know!"

The Sargent grit his yellowing teeth. "You're lying!"

Mel could feel the pressure from his finger tap against the trigger. "I'm not lying."

In those last moments, she commended herself for keeping her eyes glued to his. She told herself that her life was worth the pain and the agony and that she was going to die happy. She would be happy in death because life never allowed her any happiness.

And then the shot rang out.

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**Hope ya'll liked this chapter! One more left :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Mel stumbled back a few steps, her hands instinctively coming up to her throat where she could still feel the sting of the cold metal. She looked down at Jenkins who lay in a pool of his own blood, turning blue and ivory. Monroe jumped down from the loft and came to her side. He dropped the rifle, taking her face in his warm hands and turning her neck in a circle to make sure no damage had been done.

"Are you okay?"

Mel nodded in reply, trying to compose herself. With broken words she said, "I'm fine."

He pulled away from her sooner than she hoped he would, and took up the rifle once more. "The other two are bound to have heard that."

She craned her neck to glance out through the broken slabs of wood which still hung on the hinges. The fields, and the tree lines beyond it, were empty. "We have to leave,"

"We?" Monroe sniffed unbelievingly at the word. "Mel, you can't stay with me. You'll die."

"Well, you'll die without me." She rapidly snapped, meandering through the cabin, trying to pack as much of her needed possessions into a small rucksack.

"Don't you wish," he scoffed beneath his breath.

Mel turned to him, hands on her hips and eyes boring through his. "I am coming," she told him slowly. "So shut your mouth and help me pack."

"Where could we possibly go, Melanie?" Monroe threw his arms out to the side, demanding to receive some sort of logical explanation. "There are two more armed men out there! They're probably just waiting for us, armed and ready."

With a loud, frustrated groan, Mel threw the bag, which was half full with clothing and loaves of rye bread, to the ground before putting both her hands on either side of the heavy bureau, pulling it back a few feet.

"What are you doing, Mel?"

She leaned over, disappearing behind the shifted bureau, and then stood up soon after with two Beretta's in her hand. Without a word, she tossed one to him and rummaged under the ashes in the fireplace for a small metal box.

Bass impatiently tapped his foot, occasionally glancing over his shoulder and out the door to see if any of Jenkins' men were stalking toward the cabin.

The fields swayed peacefully.

When he turned back to see what she was up to, he was surprised to look right into shiney new 9mm bullets which were neatly stacked in the box she held up to his face.

"There are fifty bullets in here," Mel said, lowering the box to waist level and securing it shut, "and there's ten rounds in each clip. Is that enough for you to kill two men?" She held out the second pistol in her other hand.

A slow smirk spread across his face as he took the gun from her hand, his fingertips brushing against hers lightly. "So, you're telling me that I have seventy bullets for my disposal?"

She nodded. "Don't forget the four left in the rifle."

"Seventy-four? Damn," His shoulders squared and he looked straight above her head and out the window, letting out a deep breath of knowing when he saw two dark figures stand up from the golden stalks. "That's seventy-three too many."

"There are two foot soldiers." She reminded in a breathless whisper, sensing him inching closer to her.

"I know," Monroe titled his head to the side, parting his lips slightly.

Mel's words got caught in her throat as her free hand took a piece of his shirt and tugged him forward. "Just this once, please," Her body pulsated desperately for a moment as his heat radiated against her skin, surrounding her. "Before we go,"

A surge of surprise flushed through her very being when his lips gently came to hers. Just like that he wasn't the tyrant that wanted to kill her, he wasn't the man who had been running for his life...he was the man she knew he was capable of being again.

Their kiss deepened. Passionate. Resolute.

_You're not losing this war alone._ She bit down on his lower lip, registering the slight moan that escaped through his mouth and vibrated into her

Nothing seemed so perfect.

Until that second shot rang out. Then a third.

_Two heads spinning round and round_

_Two dead bodies on the ground_

_Seventy-four bullets shattering without a sound_

_Two souls sinking, hell bound_


End file.
